


Works I've Written in My Creative Writing Class

by vibrantpml



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibrantpml/pseuds/vibrantpml
Summary: Just a few things I wrote in my writing class!





	Works I've Written in My Creative Writing Class

Run  
Alarms. Heavy breathing. Screams. Clay could see the smoke of the buildings as he approached the burning city, and he felt his stomach churn as he entered a field of smoke. His throat clogged, but he couldn’t stop running.  
¨Clay, we will find you!” A voice called, high pitched almost. “The city won’t protect you!” Another voice, deeper. These two people were Clay’s chasers. Out to kill him. Clay’s one goal? To survive, obviously.  
I’ve got to hide so I can at least rest. Somewhere with less smoke. Clay thought to himself as he dodged falling debris. George and Nick are getting closer. Where am I, anyway? Glancing around he spotted a very broken sign, but it’s what he assumed was the city welcome sign. L’manburg. Isn’t that in Atlantis? He seemed shocked, remembering the history of Atlantis. The city was corrupted by a dictator and eventually burned to ash. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps could be heard. Clay froze and slowly turned around only to see a familiar face. “WE’VE GOT YOU!” George screamed, only for Clay to dodge them swiftly and begin to run through the smoke. The city seemed endless to him, and he didn’t know where to go. The footsteps could no longer be heard, and he squinted, spotting a building. There’s no way. Slowly approaching the building he found a backpack. While opening it he almost threw up. Maggots. Throwing the bag into the fire, he was suddenly knocked down.  
“GEORGE! I GOT HIM!” Nick yelled as he grabbed the knife out of his satchel. Clay was quick to act, grabbing Nick’s wrist and soon enough the knife was in his hand, and he stabbed Nick in the hand. Screams of pain filled his ears as he ran from the area, and as he looked back his eyes met with George’s. “You will pay for this.” George seethed, turning to tend to Nick, and Clay smiled. “Oh, I know. I’ve been running from you for years now. Tom deserved to die for what he did to me.” Clay said through gritted teeth, then turned and disappeared into the smoke.  
“Nick. Nick are you okay?” George asked, and Nick remained unresponsive, staring at his bleeding hand. The knife pierced through his skin, and without proper care, it could easily become infected. “Here,” George grabbed the first aid kit and disinfected the wound, and nearly threw up at the bubbling puss that came from it. Eventually, he wrapped the wound with some cloth and tape. Nick’s screams were heard around the city as he put pressure onto his hand. The pain was clear in his eyes, but they both knew they had to find Clay to avenge Tom’s death.  
Clay was not happy as he stumbled into an even more smoke-filled area, and he felt his throat begin to clog up. Dropping to the ground he crawled under the smoke, taking in short breaths. Coming to the other side of the dangerous area, he sat and took a rest.  
Thoughts filled his head of what he did to Tom. Was murdering him in cold blood necessary? Yes, it was. Tom not only stole his most prized possession and destroyed it, but also a family heirloom. It was what Clay had left of his family. The look of regret in Tom’s eyes as he took his last breath was still fresh in Clay’s eyes, even though it happened years ago.  
As he broke out of his trance, he realized how long he’d been sitting there. When he stood, he flinched. A piece of debris fell from the spot he was sitting at, not two seconds after he left. Glancing up to the decaying skyscraper he began to walk toward where he hoped was the end of the city.  
“He’s over here. I can see him.” George whispered, creeping forward slowly. Nick stood back, glancing down at his still bleeding hand. You know the plan. He’s almost at the end of the city, and then when he steps into the field… we attack. Nick thought to himself, continuing to walk quietly forward. Suddenly, a crack of rotting wood was heard snapping under George’s foot, and Clay was running. George was quick to react, and as they left the thinning smoke they entered a field.  
There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Clay thought to himself, running as fast as he could. Run, Clay. Run. He said to himself as his feet hit the ground.  
One. George thought, leaping toward Clay.  
Two. Nick grabbed the knife, inching toward the boy.  
Three. Clay’s scream was cut off by the laughter of Nick and George, and the knife was prominent, pierced through his chest. 

The deed was done. Clay failed to do the one thing he needed to do to survive.  
Run.


End file.
